Christine Murray

hook--

the feather-hook is a seed spiralling in the breeze,

a false signal

it mocks the mayhem of the caught moth down to

its nub stone

its plane is a shell network of dried skin, veined even

- it has a spine of sorts

it mocks the mayhem of the caught moth down to

its nub stone

ceremony--

the red rope is looped around the neck

and brought down the back to the bra-line

it tightly binds across the top of the chest and

is looped down to the cunt-lips separating them

held-to and pulled in the back arches back

bow-bent as if its wood had seasoned in

an iron girder above hot embers and released

steam onto a still lake the hook retracts when

the dress slides into a bluey ripple onto the boards

there are six hooks embedded into the ceiling

stockings catch up the desert breeze on a small

balcony, a strip of silk portholes the room and

sutras are tacked into the walls the hooks do not

look as if they could carry the weight of an inert body

spider-rolled silk-skeined red-cocooned

the bird panics spider-fruits from under

dry eaves

these net-webs are laden with the small dead

best not to move he is demented with hunger.

 

hunger--

outside the ragged bird panics

dead flies from the window nets

yet it is not clothed right

- it claws the glass

Christine Murray is a City and Guilds Stone­cutter. Her poetry is published in a variety of magazines and ezines. She has reviewed poetry for Post (Mater Dei Institute), Poetry Ireland and Writing.ie. Chris blogs at Poethead, A Poetry Blog. Her chapbook, Three Red Things was published on June 4th 2013 by Smithereens Press, Dublin, Ireland. http://poethead.wordpress.com http://www.linkedin.com/in/murraychristine 

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